


If Only. . .

by Kono_Rohan_Da



Series: Rohan's Whumptober 2020 [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abandonment, Child Abuse, Day 8, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hallucinations, Isolation, Miya Osamu Whump, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, Whumptober 2020, passive suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26898934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kono_Rohan_Da/pseuds/Kono_Rohan_Da
Summary: Miya Osamu always knew that he wasn't the favorite. Compared to his more talkative and energetic brother, who has tangible hopes and dreams of playing volleyball and making it big. And it's Osamu's fault too for caring for his brother too much. If he hadn't, then he would be spending who know what amount of weeks in a pitch black room, laying on his side and waiting for death to come take him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Series: Rohan's Whumptober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948426
Comments: 13
Kudos: 138





	If Only. . .

Graduation brought mixed feelings for Miya Osamu. For one, well, he graduated. Vice captain of the Inarizaki boy’s volleyball club, honor roll (not that he could say the same for his brother), and already having plans for his future:

Plans that included getting out of this house as soon as possible. But only if things were that easy. 

Tsumu, he was going to play volleyball. Professionally. Osamu loves volleyball, he really does! They were the Miya twins, well known throughout the volleyball world. He didn’t join volleyball just because his brother was interested in it. He didn’t practice as much as he did because he felt like he had to be a better player. 

But he has dreams too. Dreams that stray from his second love, volleyball, and more towards his third love, food. He’s dreamt of opening his own restaurant for a while now. Onigiri, probably, since they’re so popular and you can do so much with it. 

And it was about time he and his brother because less dependent on each other. But it wasn’t like Atsumu agreed with him. 

Atsumu tried so hard to persuade him to come with him after they graduated, to tryout for a professional V-League team together, using reasons like he can play for a decade and then retire to open up his own restaurant, already having his own funds from playing and sponsorships so he won’t have to worry about getting a loan or money. He told him he can do both at the same time. And Osamu, he felt like saying yes, gods, he wanted to say yes so much. He wanted to stand next to his brother not as support but as a parter, a team, a duo, when he told their parents that he was going to Osaka to try out for a professional team. He loves his brother more than anything in the world, even though he’s well aware that he doesn’t show it outwardly much. Even if they fight so much and when it gets  _ bad _ , it’s always Atsumu who comes with his tail between his legs and a small “hey, I love ya” instead of the other way around. He remembers when he used to have the courage to comfort his brother, like when they were kids. When he would hug him and try to wipe the tears away instead of cooking food and silently leaving a plate for him as an apology. 

But they’re always watching. And he knows that life for both of them could of been a lot worse if they knew how much Osamu really loved his twin brother, that even though they did fight, it wasn’t out of hatred: it was just something they did, something that made them closer than ever instead of creating a divide like they had probably wanted. 

Osamu’s parents, they aren’t abusive by any means. They’ve only raised a hand to slap him when he talked back or got a very rare bad grade. They never left any bruises, never left and leaving cuts. They never pushed or tripped him. No, they just...it was mental scars they left. Not physical. Psychological. 

It’s difficult for him to even think of what they’ve been doing to him as something that is wrong. The only way he knows that it’s wrong, the way they behave with him, is because they’re completely different when Atsumu is around. It’s only when he’s alone with them that they say words that tear into him, warm expressions going stone cold, forcing him to sit-  _ always sit _ \- so that they can loom over him. And even though they’ve rarely hit him, he always finds himself flinching away from movements that can turn into anything when it’s just him and them. 

He wasn’t allowed to move out. 

That was his parents largest threat. Don’t move out unless they say so or else they’ll find a way to ruin Atsumu’s barely blossomed volleyball career.  _ It’s because we love you two _ . And when he told them a week after his last Spring Interhigh on the national court that he wanted to go to college (maybe escape) while Atsumu was meeting with the second year who he was going to bestow the mantel of captain upon at a cafe, they said that he can’t break the deal. So they offered for him to take college classes online, as it was  _ his  _ decision to be trapped in his own home.

_ It’s only for a few years, honey  _ his mom had said, patting him on the head with a razor-sharp smile. He thinks to a time when those eyes really did look at him with love. Back when he and Tsumu liked to wear the same clothes everyday, their parents unable to tell them apart, occasionally mistaking Osamu as Atsumu or Atsumu as Osamu. 

_ “Well, this is it.” Atsumu says. The two of them watch the train curve around the bend. The train that will take his brother to the farthest part of Japan from home: Osaka. Osamu feels jealous. Atsumu is allowed to leave. Atsumu has his freedom. He also feels happy. Atsumu has his  _ freedom _. He’s able to do what he wants. He doesn’t have to be at home with their parents who actually love him.  _

_ “Y’know you can call” Osamu says, crossing his arms. Atsumu’s smile is crooked. He lets out a snort. His eyes are shiny.  _

_ “Why’d I call?” He says. The train comes closer and closer. Osamu watches Atsumu’s face closely. He’s thinking about something. It’s the same look of concentration he gets when he sees the other team have a really good play and feels like trying it out. Before he knows it, Atsumu is hugging him. “Imma miss ya” Atsumu says, hands gripping the pack of Osamu’s jacket. Osamu is quick to return the hug. The two of them stand there, still, in each other’s embrace. “Ya better be the one to call first.” _

_ “Such a dumbass- you call first.” _

_ Osamu is almost always the one to call first _ . 

Two months after Atsumu moves out, after their bond stays as close as ever due to the marvels of modern technology, his mom takes his phone, and with a gentle look on her face, throws it into the trash, ties the bag up, and tells Osamu to throw the trash out. 

“You heard me” she said. “It’s just the trash, honey. The truck comes this afternoon.” Osamu threw out the trash, his mom’s eyes on him at all times. That phone, besides email, is the only way he can contact Tsumu on his own. He never gets the chance to get the phone out, watching with his mother ten minutes later as the garbage truck comes and empties the bin before setting it back down and moving onto the next house.

When he marches up the stairs to his room, mother a few seconds behind him. His room, the only place in the house that really gives him the true feeling of  _ home _ . Bunkbed and desk, remnants of Atsumu still there in the things he left behind. His eyes catch on the empty space on the desk.  _ The computer’s gone _ . A quick look around the room confirms that so is his alarm clock. The window is boarded up, the only light being that which comes in from the hallway through the open door. 

He quickly goes to the joined bathroom and sees that the small window in there and the skylight have been covered. He exits the bathroom just in time to see his bedroom door close, lock turning from the outside with a  _ click  _ and something sliding shut. A deadbolt. Panic flourishes through him and he rushes to the door, twisted the doorknob, twisting the lock. Just this one time, he doesn’t want to be right. The door stays shut and he stumbles back until he’s sitting on his bed, staring at the door incredulously.

_ What the hell? _

  
  
  
  


The strangest thing, after yelling for his mom for a good three minutes before he knows that she’s not coming, is how all natural light is gone. The only only source of light is if he turns his room ones on. Even the smoke detector has been disabbled, the small red light he used to sometimes look at when he can’t get any sleep now gone. His only entertainment are the books left. Textbooks, mandatory reading, some cookbooks- most of them are about volleyball. Fondly, he flips through the one photo album left. With his permission, Atsumu had taken two of the three bulky albums filled with memories with him to Osaka. 

What he assumes is day later, his parents walk into his room in right when he turns a page of the manga he’s reading. 

“You’ve been different as of lately” his mother calmly says, smoothening her skirt. “Yer not the son we gave birth to. I remember when you were this big. Such a happy little boy.” His father nods in agreement. Osamu looks down at the floor from where he sits on the bed, fingers curling. 

“She’s right son” his father says with a deceiving smile less effective than Atsumu’s. “We already took the liberty of taking you out of your college classes-” Osamu can’t help but stand at this. 

“You  _ what _ ?” He snarls. 

“Now, Atsumu” his mom says and Osamu turns his head to her. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“Ah, my mistake. Osamu, honey, this is for yer own good!” She says, entwining her fingers together. “Take this time to give yourself a restart, a fresh start at life. Find a new outlook on life. Find a new perspective. Let yourself  _ be _ .”

“What do you mean? You two are crazy. I’m legally an adult-”

“Yes you are, but you really don’t want to leave, don’t yah? I mean” his mom raises a hand up, one perfectly manicured finger tracing his cheek “I don’t think Atsumu-” 

“I want to stay” he quickly says. Anything for his brother. He isn’t selfish, it doesn’t matter what he does with his own life. As long as his brother, as long as he’s happy… 

His dad ruffles his hair before they file out of the room, turning the lights off, closing and locking the door behind them. He watches the sliver of light from the hallway get cut off as the door closes, leaving him in darkness. He stands there for a minute before blindly reaching for the manga he had been reading before they barged in, throwing it at the wall with a yell before collapsing backwards onto his bed, tugging at his hair. 

“I HATE YOU!” He screams. 

  
  
  
  


Isolation. 

That’s what it is.

After what he thinks is a week, when he tried to turn on the lights, they wouldn’t turn on. He still keeps his hygiene up even in the darkness, since it’s now one of the few ways he can pass his time. Taking a show, washing his body excessively with soap and body wash. Using the hair gel he bought for graduation to style his hair is ridiculous ways which he’ll never be able to see. He thanks the gods, for once, for his inability to grow facial hair since he doesn’t have to fumble for a razor. 

It was boring. He felt like he was becoming insane. Once every once in a while, the door would open at night so no light enters, a few water bottles and nonperishable food that doesn’t require heating up being placed inside of his room. His parents don’t come up to talk to him. It’s been a long time. He measures time by a day starting after he wakes up because there’s really no knowing if he was asleep for one hour or ten. 

Scary. That’s what it is. This is like one of those psychology experiments they would do in the movies. No outside contact. No light. No sound except for the sound he makes. He doesn’t sleep on his bed, instead climbing up the ladder to the upper bunk, the pillow still smelling like Atsumu’s conditioner. 

True panic only began to hit him when he was combing his hair and feeling the strands gave him an approximation for how long it grew.  _ Hair grows an average of 1.7 cm a month _ . This feels like a few centimeters of growth. 

When he sleeps, he also dreams more. At this point, they all take place in darkness. Sounds, smells, voices. Those are the only things that visit his unconscious mind.  _ Nice kill! Here Samu! What’s the answer to question eighteen, Miya? _

One day he tried to talk to himself. Not really talk, but softly sing a song he remembers him and Tsumu both liking no matter how old they were. The syllables come out in rasps, throat hurting from the effort. 

The only time he gets up now is to shower, eat, and use the bathroom. Other than that, he stays in Tsumu’s bed. The smell of him has barely faded, comforting him. He used to blindly do origami, play a game with himself where he’d try to find something in the room. He walks around in only his underwear and a pair of shorts, room temperature never changing. 

Wake up. Bathroom. Brush. Shower. Comb hair. Eat. Drink. Lie down. Try to sleep. Try to sleep. Sleep. Repeat. 

He occasionally finds himself thinking that he  _ sees  _ something in his room. A shadowy figure, vaguely resembling either of his parents. More often than not, he thinks its his brother, come to see why he hasn’t been answering his texts with his phone which has probably been destroyed by a trash compactor, only for the figure to turn and blend back into the darkness when he croaks out a weak  _ “Atsumu?” _

The food also starts to come less and less. The food that does lasts him longer and longer. He finds no motivation, no need, to eat the food that he loves so much. Sometimes he doesn’t feel like climbing down the ladder, keeping at least one water bottle up there with him, taking a small sip to keep his dwindling hunger at bay. 

One day he falls sick. He doesn’t know if it’s because is immune system has weakened somehow or if it was because of the food, but he finds himself bent over the toilet, throwing up the little food that he ate and more. His mom visits once and he’s able to squint through the blinding light at her expression: it’s that of disgust. Then she leaves and doesn’t return for a long time. 

When he crawls back to his room, he goes to the desk, fumbling for what he hopes is a blank sheet of paper and a pen. He sits on the chair and the reduced movement and the throw up session and now being sick makes his body feel like the world is spinning, but he makes it. 

_ I don’t know how long it has been _ he starts, writing from up to down, right to left to reduce the chances of the kanji and hiragana overlapping.  _ I don’t know why I just thought about writing- it would of kept me from getting bored for some part of the day. It’s completely dark. No lights. No windows. No smoke alarm. No nothing. My hair has grown. I sometimes hallucinate a dark figure in my room. It’s actually kind of scary _ . He pauses in his writing, thinking about what to write next.  _ I’m going to estimate it’s been more than a month. At least two, maybe. I don’t know why Atsumu’s never come. Mom threw my phone away a month after he left. He’s an idiot, but not enough to think that I would actually cut off contact with him.  _

_ Mom and dad have never liked me, I think. They always favored Atsumu more. The only thing I’m jealous about with that is that Atsumu is treated well. I don’t want him to be treated like how I am- I just don’t want to keep on being stuck in this role _ . 

And he thinks it’s that word that does it. He grows more confident with his writing, with where the pen is going to land, with where the edges of the paper are. He won’t be able to erase. He won’t be able to take back anything he puts down. 

Every word that he forms, he means it. Every word that forms, it’s true. He only uses one side of each of the sheets of paper, getting three pages done before his hand is taking too much, before his fingers are cramped and hurting since he hasn’t written in so long. He climbs back up the bunk, eyes shining in the dark, hoping that he’s looking at the desk. 

  
  
  
  


His day has a new routine. When he’s able to gather then energy, he goes to the papers and continues to write, detailing his thoughts, his movements, his wants and fears. His fever faded away only to come back maybe a week later. He has to ration his food more now, the amount of both food and water he’s given lessening. Sometimes one of his parents come in, carrying a dim light which attracts Osamu’s gaze like a moth to a flame, regardless of how much it hurts to look. They’ll tell him a few things before leaving for who knows how long. 

“ _ Oh” his mother says one day “Atsumu dropped by. He said to tell you that he hates you _ .”

The hallucinations grow much stronger. There’s color in them, which confirms to him that they’re fake. He spends less time out of the bed because it takes too much effort to move from the desk and up the ladder as the fever grows stronger and stronger. The tips of what were once his bangs reach his chin. He freaks out when he wakes up with his cheek planted against the paper he had fallen asleep on, scared that the sweat from the fever would of managed to wipe away some of the words.

Some days he felt like dying: both in the sense that he would out of exhaustion and isolation and the fever, but also in the sense that he wants to. 

He remembers that he has friends, people who he’s close to besides Atsumu. He kept in contact with his old captain, Kita Shinsuke. He went to lunch with Araun when he came to visit. He had weekly lunch meet-ups with Sunarin and the other teammates his age. 

_ Why haven’t any of them tried to come? _ He puts down on paper.  _ It’s been so long since I’ve even heard my own voice. I miss them. I miss my friends, I miss my brother, I miss who my parents used to be. I don’t want to do this anymore.  _ A tear drips onto the paper.  _ I’ve found my mind going to darker places. Death. How would it feel? Is it just like this or worst? I know there’s a razor in the bathroom- I toyed with it once- it would be so easy since the only thing my parents care for now is sending food up here and keeping the door locked.  _ He coughs into his elbow, sniffling to keep the snot from dripping.  _ It would be easy. So very easy. I think I said that already. I can just lie down on my bed. _ The realization, just really, hits him. It would be easy. It really would be easy.  _ I don’t get much food anyway. And many people died from illness. I’d just have to...sleep.  _

_ The MSBY Blanck Jackals, they must of had their first game by now. A few games by now. I hope Tsumu won. I hope he has good teammates. I love him. He’s the best brother I could of ever had. I love you Tsumu. I’m sorry.  _

He adds the paper to the considerable pile he’s made, straightening the pile out and placing it at what he hopes is the middle of the desk. 

He takes a shower, changes into a pair of boxers and shorts he had washed and dried in the sink the other day, and manages to make it up the ladder without passing out. Then he tosses the half-filled waterbottle he kept up there over the edge of the frame, hearing it fall on the ground before rolling onto his side, curling around the pillow so that the top is pressed under his nose. Even with it being all stuffy and clogged up, he can still smell the vanilla mint. 

_ I don’t want to die  _ a small part of his brain says  _ I don’t want to live like this anymore  _ a larger part of his brain says.  _ Shut up  _ he tells his brain. 

Consciousness is fleeting. It comes and goes in flashes. His body is soaked in sweat and he breaks down when he’s unable to smell anything from the pillow. A long time passes. His stomach pangs with pain but he refuses to get up. His throat begs for water. He refuses to get up. He curls tighter around the pillow, wishing that it’ll all end. 

Then, of course, a hallucination. 

He hears noises- his brain makes up noises- of yells, of bangs on the door, of someone calling his name. He holds on tighter to the pillow, the pillow which no longer smells, which no longer holds any meaning, but still means everything to him. 

He imagines the whole room lighting up, bright as a supernova. He squeezes his eyes shut, not even able to let out a gasp, hiding his face in the pillow. He trembles, shaking.  _ It’s getting scary _ . His brain pulls up the sound of wood creaking, like how it would when Atsumu would climb down from the bunk in the middle of the night. His brain pulls up a  _ feeling _ , of something touching his calf, of something touching his hair, threading through soaked greasy strands. 

“ _ Samu?”  _ His brain shakily whispers. “SAMU!” It screams at him. 

  
  
  
  


_ Hey, so Bokkun tried, once again, the quick. Meian-san took a video! What improvements should I make? I feel like somethings off.  _

_ Samu? _

_ So an onigiri shop opened here… _

_ Hey! College is probably keeping yah busy, I bought you an early-birthday present: a ticket to Osaka! Your train leaves tomorrow, idiot- come visit me!  _

_ Why aren’t you answering my texts or calls? _

_ I’m gonna stop now _

_ So not texting you for two weeks is a long time for me, alright? Seriously ,why aren’t you replying? _

Calling….calling...This number does not exist.

That was three months ago. So, in total, five months since he’s seen his brother, three since he’s heard anything from him. He calls his mom and dad and they tell him that Osamu is perfectly fine, just that college is getting a bit stressful for him. 

That doesn’t worry him. What  _ does  _ is when Kita texts him, then Aran, then Suna, and then some other people. All about Osamu. About where he is. About why he dropped out of college. About why he hasn’t been coming out to lunch. About why their phones say his number  _ doesn’t exist _ . 

One day, out of anger, Atsumu bought a ticket back home. His mother smiled at him and led him up the stairs, telling him to be quiet. She shined a flashlight, showing Osamu, fast asleep half-naked on his half of the bunk (the bottom). 

“He dropped out of college?” Atsumu asks. His mom’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Where did you hear that? No no no, he’s simply transferring to a very nice culinary school in, I forget, either Tokyo or Hiroshima. He was very happy about it. We ate out for celebration.” Atsumu looks away from his sleeping brother. His brother’s probably been having a blast at home. He notices that the room is pretty messy. The hypocrite- he always told Atsumu to keep the room clean but now that he’s gone, the room is in even worse shape than he ever kept it in! There’s clothes strewn by the door to the bathroom, mangas scattered, the stationary cup tipped over with most of the pens and pencils on the floor. 

“Tell him” Atsumu says, gritting his teeth, blinking back the red hot tears. “That I  _ hate  _ him.”

  
  
  
  
  


He doesn’t talk to anyone about Osamu for the next month. So six months. He tells their friends about what his mom told them and all of them agreed with him that Osamu’s behavior was inexcusable. 

“Hey, Aran!” He says into the phone, wiping his forehead with a towel. Practice was pretty intensive at this point. At least it wasn’t as strict as high school where phones had to be kept in their bags in the locker room. “Calling to complain about Suna after your loss last week?”

“No” Aran’s voice says. “You said that Osamu moved out already?”

“Um, yeah” Atsumu frowns. “Mom and Dad told me that he moved to some part of Tokyo. Why, did you run into him?” His voice turns venomous near the end. 

“No, actually. I visited your parents this morning. I heard something from the floor above, where your room is, so I asked about it. They said it was Osamu. When I told them about you telling me he went to college, they just told me that he’s taking it online and made me leave.”

Both ends are silent. 

_ What _ ?

“Are you sure?” Atsumu slowly says. 

“Yes.” Aran says. “Don’t forget I have better hearing than you.” 

“Okay. I’ll try and clear things up this weekend. I’ll visit home and see what that idiot brother of mine is really up to.”

  
  
  
  


Atsumu ends up bringing Bokuto with him, since he doesn’t really know what true or false anymore. And if his parents are right… he doesn’t want to be the one to talk to Osamu. Does their relationship mean nothing? Is he that easy to forget, to throw away? Osamu had called at least once a week before he suddenly stopped, not even responding to his social media or emails. 

He really thinks something is suspicious when his parents don’t allow Bokuto to enter. So Atsumu gives him money and texts him directions to a cafe a ten minutes walk away. 

“So what’s really been goin’ on?” He asks his parents. They smile sweetly at him. 

“My dear, sweet boy” his mother coos, reaching for his cheeks. He ducks away. 

“Where’s Samu?”

“In his room, of course.” His mother says. Atsumu doesn’t know  _ how  _ he never spotted it before, but there’s venom in her smile. Like a snake. He meets her eyes and the warmth that was in them are gone. Her smile is strained. 

“Oh, well” Atsumu crosses his arms. “Can I see him?”

“Thought you hated him” his dad says, sipping his tea. 

“It’s complicated” he shrugs. “And didn’t you tell me that he was off to some fancy cookin’ school in Tokyo?” Both of his parents movements freeze.  _ Oh, that’s it _ . “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” He yells. “You’ve been lyin’ to me all along?”

“ _ DON’T  _ yell at me” his mother snaps. “This is for Osamu’s own good.”

“What d'ya  _ mean  _ for his own good?” Atsumu growls. “What have ya been doin’? Kita-san and Sunarin and Aran have been callin’ me and they say that they never seen Samu!”

“Correct” his mother says, as if there’s nothing wrong with what he just said. “As I said before, everything we’ve been doing is for his own good.”

“So what have’ya been doin’?” 

His father sets down his tea. “Now, Atsumu, if you can just calm down. There is no need for you to know anything. Just know that when you do see your brother again, he will be a better person. Just wait.”

“And when will that be? Another month? Half a year? A decade?” He cooly says. His mom clasps her hands together. 

“That’s if Osamu behaves.” She says. 

“Screw. You.” Atsumu says. These people in front of him… who are they? They aren’t the couple who doted on him and Osamu. They aren’t the people who ruffled his hair after a win, who hugged and cried over him and Samu at their graduation. . .

Or is it? Has he been living a lie all along and Samu...he’s been with the truth, with reality, all this time. 

“HEY, SAMU! SAMU!” He yells. 

“Atsumu, don’t!” His mom screeches, reaching for his arm, but he pushes her back. He runs up the stairs, two at a time. He tries to open the door to their room, banging against it, but it doesn’t give. He yells for Samu to unlock the door. His parents try to stop him but he’s an athlete- he easily keeps them from stopping him. They get the message, watching with angry faces. 

“Atsumu, honey, you’re doing the wrong thing. Just leave” His mother chides. 

“ _ No”  _ Atsumu answers. His heart drops when he notices the deadlock. It wasn’t locked from the inside- it was locked from the  _ outside _ . He slides the bolt open and swings the door open, the light from the hallway’s windows and skylight flooding the pitch black room. He reaches for the switch, trying to turn the light on, but it doesn’t. He takes another step in. 

“Samu?” He wrinkles his nose. The place smells like sweat. “Samu?” His foot kicks a plastic disposable water bottle. He sees on the desk a pile of papers. The top most is filled with crooked and swaying characters. Even though it looks like it was written with your eyes closed, he still recognizes it as Osamu’s handwriting.

There’s no one on the bottom bunk tilting his head up just a little bit greets him with the sight of a lump on his bed. He takes large steps, placing his feet on top of the bottom bunk-bed, gripping the wooden railing to hold himself steady. 

He looks horrible. 

His brother is wrapped around the pillow, face buried in it, body trembling and soaked in sweat, even though he’s only in a pair of shorts, underwear just peeking out. His hair looks a lot longer, shining with grease and spread all over the place. And, gods, he looks so  _ skinny _ . He can count the knobs of his spine and trace his ribs. The muscle mass they had built up together in their years of volleyball now reduced to barely anything.  _ Skin and bones _ . He looks at his parents who haven’t crossed the doorway. They aren’t looking at Atsumu but up at Osamu, faces twisted in disgust. 

“This is abuse” he whispers. He touches Osamu’s calf, trying to shake him awake. Then he combs his fingers through his brother’s hair, two-toned natural dark-brown and the dyed silver now that it’s grown out. “Hey, Samu?” He feels his forehead- it’s burning hot. “Samu?” He shakes him but he doesn’t wake up. “SAMU!” He looks at his parents. “What have you done?”

It’s too easy to lift Osamu off the bed- his body is so light, too light. Atsumu cradles him close to his chest, holding him gently. “I got ya, I got ya” he whispers. He grabs the blanket off the bottom bunk and drapes it around his brother’s body. He takes a look at the stack of papers on the desk- they call for him, somehow, so he grabs them too, somehow managing to carry both them and his brother. He glares at his parents who don’t say a word and then hurries downstairs. 

Once he’s out of the house, he reaches an empty bus stop, sitting down and leaning Osamu against him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, dialing a number. 

“Hey, Kita-san!” He calls, fake cheer naturally entering his voice. “Can ya pick me up from that one park we always went to for the picnics?”

“Why?” Kita asks, voice confused. “I’m working right now. Can you wait an hour or two?”

“It’s Samu” Atsumu says. “He’s got a bad fever. I think my parents” he swallows, looking down. Osamu still hasn’t woken up yet but his eyes are screwed shut, folds in his skin forming from how tightly he has them closed. “I don’t know what they did to him, but he won’t wake up and I think they had him in isolation of somethin’.”

“...I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Kita-san.”

He pockets his phone and picks Osamu up again, adjusting the blanket to cover his eyes. Then he quickly walks to the park. He only has to wait about ten minutes before Kita comes in a white truck. He’s barely stopped before Atsumu jumps into the backseat. 

“Hospital, now” Atsumu orders. Kita looks at them from the mirror before nodding and stepping on the gas. 

“How bad is it?” Kita asks.

“Really bad. He-he’s so pale and  _ thin _ ” Atsumu says with a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe I thought he wouldn’t call willingly. I just don’t know  _ why  _ my parents would do this.” He adjusts Osamu and takes the stack of papers, flipping through them. 

_ I don’t know how long it has been. . .Mom and dad have never liked me. . . Why haven’t any of them tried to come?. . I love you, Tsumu. I’m sorry.  _

“I think he somehow kept a diary” Atsumu says. “It was, all dark. No light. How did he not go insane yet?” He points out the important stuff to Kita while he reads. They make it to the hospital fifteen minutes later. Kita runs with him, holding the stack of paper while Atsumu carries Osamu. He tells the nurse as much as he can and she’s quick to call a doctor to take Osamu away. 

He watches his brother get taken away. Then he lets himself break down. 

Samu isn’t in good shape. Malnutrition, dehydration, severely underweight. His fever is bad. A cloth covers his eyes since the assumed prolonged time in darkness has made it difficult for his eyes to process light- that alone will take some time to make sure his eyes don’t get damaged along the way. 

Bokuto goes back to Osaka after three days, promising to explain the whole situation to Coach Foster and Meian. Sunarin, Aran, and the rest of their close friends come to visit. Atsumu passes his time reading Osamu’s diary, each word making him feel hate: both for his parents and himself for not suspecting anything sooner. 

And then he wakes up. 

  
  
  
  


Osamu hears beeping. He hears voices speaking. 

“Miya-san” a warm voice says. “Can you hear me?” Osamu opens his mouth to speak before he freezes. He doesn’t recognize this voice. “Here, let me help you sit up.” A hand grips his arm, another pressing against his back. He lets out a slight gasp at the touch, but soon enough he’s sitting up. 

_ This isn’t a hallucination.  _

He raises a shaky hand, reaching for his eyes. Everything isn’t black. 

“We don’t know how much your eyes have been damaged, but we have a light cloth wrapped around them to get your eyes adjusted while you were out. Have some water.” The next few minutes are filled with Osamu answering questions via shaking or nodding his head. His heart pounds when he learns how he got out. 

_ Tsumu.  _ He came and saved him. He feels tears wetten his cheeks at this, a sob tearing itself from his throat. 

“T-tsumu” he manages. 

“Would you like him to come?”

“Y-yeah.”

Not even a minute later, warm, strong arms are wrapped around him. 

“Tsumu?” He gasps. He smells vanilla mint.

“Samu” another voice, the only thing about the two of them that aren’t identical, says. Osamu lets himself fall apart. His brother repeats how he’s so sorry while Osamu cries, not knowing where the liquid for the tears came from. When he runs dry, Atsumu tells him what happened. A restraining order on his parents. A week of unconsciousness. Their friends in the waiting room. 

_ Four months _ . For four months he was trapped in darkness. 

The next week is the happiest of his life. His body never decides when it wants to fall asleep. Sometimes he only lasts six hours before needing to sleep another eight hours. Sometimes it’s more than a day. “It’s normal for what happened” the doctor had told him. At the end of the week was also when the cloth came off and Osamu is able to  _ see _ . 

It’s a month of recovery. A month of physical therapy, of building up his diet, of building up his muscle. It’s a month of meeting with a therapist to talk about his experience. A month of waking up with nightmares of darkness and shadowy figures, only to be held by Atsumu and to have the smell of vanilla mint wash over him. 

When he’s released, he moves in with Atsumu. He moves with him to Osaka. He gets a job at a nearby restaurant. He goes with Atsumu to practice, never participating but always watching and making fun of his brother’s slip-ups. 

Some days he smiles. Other days he doesn’t even feel like getting out of bed. Some days he gets a good nights sleep. Other days he wakes up after an hour, screaming. But even with the laughs and moments where he can’t make a sound, when his brain can hardly process the fact that he can  _ see  _ again,

He heals. 

  
  



End file.
